


the Same as it Ever Was

by modd



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modd/pseuds/modd
Summary: Everyone is varying degrees of fucked up after last Winter, but at least with band practice there is always a routine.Until Mae wants a change.She has a week to write them their new best hit.  Easy.





	the Same as it Ever Was

It is no small task to come back from what happened that Winter.  It is not something that can be swept away by a bad joke, inhaled and exhaled through a cigarette or quietly put to rest.  So it hangs above the four friends.  It hangs above Germ, too, but to a lesser extent.  

 

It’s not an act of  _ ignoring  _ what’s happened, it’s an acknowledgement that nothing can be done.  It’s Mae beating the shit out of that kid all over again.  It sucks.  It happened.  Bea, Gregg, Angus and Mae are still alive.  For the time being, Possum Springs is still standing.  Spring is still pushing flowers up through the melting snow.  Band practice is still on a Friday night.

 

Angus is fretting as Gregg gets his greasy hands all over his guitar.  This is definitely the last time they bring tacos to rehearsals.  Bea is plugging in her aux cord and flinching at the static boom from the connection.  Mae is tuning her bass (not something she actually knows how to do, but it looks professional).  

 

Gregg hands out the sheet music.  Which is to say, Gregg hands out scanned copies of a chewed up piece of paper with words and a “G” or “Am” sometimes written above them.

 

“Duuuude.  Is this another love song?”  Mae asks.  She twitches her whiskers, squinting in dramatic disgust at the paper.  

 

“Literally what about a song called ‘Bear Hug’ seems like a love song?”

 

The group stares back at Gregg.  Angus blushes a little bit.  The boys are called out.  

 

Narrowly avoiding death and not quite avoiding manslaughter has brought upon what can only be described as a second wave of Honeymoon phase between the two boys.  First it was a joke between Bea and Mae, but now Mae’s getting pissed.  She can’t figure out why it rubs her the wrong way.  Maybe it’s a quiet jealousy - not at their relationship, though admirable.  Maybe at their apparent ability to step away from what had happened so entirely as to rediscover one another.  Bea and Mae are surviving. Gregg and Angus are thriving.

 

This thought process isn’t healthy, Mae.  Everyone handles things differently.

 

But still.  There have been  _ soooo  _ many love songs lately.

 

“Greggison, I cannot let this stand any longer.  We’re a punk band!”

 

“We are not,” interjects Bea.  “We don’t really have a genre.”

 

“I’d say you guys are sort of, like, pop?  Angry pop?”  Germ offers, before adding that “Yeah though shit’s been getting real sappy.”

 

No one argues with the small crow.  Fed up, Gregg flings his hands up.  

 

“Alright, wise guys!  I don’t see  _ you  _ making anything!”

 

Mae stands up, “I bet I  _ could.   _ It would be a  _ masterpiece” _

 

Gregg taunts his friend, “When was the last time you wrote more than a sentence?”

 

“Are you forgetting I went to college?”

 

“Are you forgetting you dropped out?”

 

“I hate you!  I hope the amp falls and crushes you!”

 

They bristle and spit playfully at one another.  Eventually, Bea interrupts them.  If band practice doesn’t actually  _ happen  _ soon it’s a wasted evening of extra sleep for her.  

 

“Alright, Maeday.  You write us a song for next week.  Give us a.. What did you say?”

 

“Masterpiece!”

 

“Ok.  Cool.  Cook us up a masterpiece.”

 

“You’re on!”  Mae yells, flinging her hands in the air to make a point.  

 

-

 

The rest of band practice comes and goes uneventfully.  Mae notes that Angus’s voice sounds hoarse.  It seems like just his type of mild unluckiness to get sick  _ after  _ Winter.  

 

Mae shuffles around the outside of the garage they practice in, kicking a rock while Bea locks up.  The rock gets flicked against the closed door, and makes a satisfying  _ tink  _ as it rebounds off the metal.  

 

Bea tells Mae if she keeps it up, she’s walking home.  Mae’s body is built for scampering up things, not walking in the dark for an hour.  She clicks her seatbelt in and kicks her feet up onto the dashboard.

 

“Seriously?”

 

Mae puts her feet back down.

 

A light drizzle sets upon them as Bea drives them home.  Her windscreen wipers catch Mae’s eyes, and her pupils dart back and forth in time to them.  “Bea?”  Mae asks.

 

“Yeah, Maeday?”

 

“If you had to write a song, how would you do it?”

 

“I’m not doing your work for you.”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying!  I’m looking for inspiration!  This is actually me saying you’re inspiring.  Inspire me.”

 

Bea doesn’t react to this.  Silence.  Mae jolts in surprise as Bea starts to speak again.  

 

“Don’t tell me if this is stupid.  But I think if I were gonna write a song, it wouldn’t be about something particularly...meaningful?  Like, our whole lives are meant to be full of meaningful things and if you don’t get a break from that in something like music, where can you go?”

 

“It’s not stupid.  I’m stupid.  I don’t get it.”

 

“Don’t call yourself stupid, Maeday.”  Bea lights a cigarette and inhales, puffing her smoke out the window before she speaks again.  

 

“There are songs about little things, like crushes or partying or just doing the daily slog, right?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“And there are songs about death, and broken hearts, and that kind of thing.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m just saying I’d write a song about those first things.”

 

Mae nods sagely.  She doesn’t grasp it entirely, but that doesn’t matter.  When more than a couple sentences are coaxed out of Bea, Mae knows to stay quiet and let the rest pour out.  Sometimes it is more of an internal monologue than actually have a conversation with Mae, but it’s valuable all of the time.

 

The rest of the car ride continues like that.  Bea occasionally dropping ideas out, and Mae catching and holding onto them tenderly.  There’s something in the expectancy to write about something like her mother’s death that wigs Bea out.  There’s a pull to identifying something good in the mundane, because that is what she has to do every day.  Bea would make a song about the shit that happens in her day, but in a way that wouldn’t bore someone to death.  Or she’d try.

 

Mae listens, and she stares at her friend.  The things she learns from Bea.  

 

“It’s your stop, Maeday.  Good luck with this song thing.”

 

“Thanks, Beabea.”

 

“I’ll be at the Pickaxe tomorrow if you need any other ideas.  Stop by whenever.”

 

With that, Bea pulls out and drives away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very excited for this fic and I fully plan to have a completed song by the end of it. I haven't listed any ships other than what is canon currently, but feel free to insinuate friend interaction as crush interaction or vice versa. Would love feedback and would adore to know where you would like this fic to head! It will be the first time I actually have a long term plan for a fic, so it will be interesting to see how far I can take this. Here's hoping we all see the end. ;-) Expect at least eight chapters, for each day of the week and then some padding towards the beginning and end.


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